The Days of Ice
by LinkehCrescent
Summary: A major ice storm hits London. What are our favorite barber and baker going to do?


Eighteenth century London was not the sunniest place in the world. Maybe it was the dreary landscape, or the smoke from the harbor, but something made this one of the coldest, gloomiest places that man could ever inhabit.  
If you happened to be traveling through this city around this time, you might have come across a lane known to many as Fleet Street. At the corner of this street, two blocks from St. Dunstan▓s Market, you would find yourself looking at a pie shop, or under a more formal name, a meat pie emporium. Above the little bakery was a barbershop, home to the greatest barber in all of London.  
You have heard the tale of Sweeney Todd, haven▓t you, dear reader? You have heard the story of the barber who cuts the throats of men? Of the woman who so cheerfully bakes them into pies? Yes, yes, I was sure that you had heard it.  
Well, it is told that many, many years ago, at the time that the demon barber was haunting the streets of London, that there was an ice storm. An ice storm very much like the one that you and I have lived through, an ice storm just as dreadful. Now, I could tell you my experience with such a storm, but that is something that you have heard many and many a time. But have you heard what happened to the barber and the baker in these horrible hours? I think not, so I am here, here to relate to you the tale of Sweeney Todd, demon barber of Fleet Street, and the many days of ice.

⌠Toby. Toby, love.■ Mrs. Lovett, the baker, gently shook the young lad lying asleep on her couch, attempting to rouse him. Her parlor was horribly chilly; the fire in the hearth must have died out during the night. She was surprised her adopted son (saved from the workhouse to help her in her shop) was able to sleep through the cold, and admittedly a little worried.  
⌠Mum?■ mumbled the boy, finally stirring. His innocent brown eyes searched the darkness for her.  
There was a flash as a candle was lit, revealing the pie-maker. The light played against her face, leaving deep shadows under her eyes, deeper than normal. Toby let out a gust of air, knowing from experience that much worse things lurked in the darkness. Darkness┘ why was it so dark? ⌠Mrs. Lovett, mum, wha▓ time is it?■ he asked, scrambling up into a sitting position before wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to warm himself up.  
⌠Almos▓ ten,■ she replied, her small hands working at lighting the fire. In moments it was blazing and she was setting the supplies back on the mantle. She dusted her hands off on her apron, looking down at them as she spoke her next words. ⌠Weatha▓s been a bi▓ nasty. I can▓ seem ta get tha door open.■ Her accent was unusual and thick, but the boy had adjusted to it months ago. He hopped off of her floral print couch. ⌠The door▓s stuck?!■ Mrs. Lovett wasn▓t as delicate as she looked, and if she couldn▓t get the door open, something was definitely wasn▓t right.  
She nodded, lighting another candle as she moved out of the parlor and into her kitchen, which was where she served and made the best pies in London. ⌠I was hopin▓ tha▓ with you up, we coul▓ give it anotha go. I jus▓ wanna pop up to check on Mistah T.■ Mr. T, Mr. Todd, the barber upstairs. Toby knew him well, and the boy didn▓t like him. But Mrs. Lovett did, a bit too much, if you asked anyone, so he had no say in the matter. When the pie-maker had her mind set on something, she was going to do it. The least he could do was help.  
Together, the two managed to open the front door and look out on the world. Both shivered, wishing that they had put on something made for a bit colder weather. They stared out on the world from the doorway, shocked at what they saw.  
Ice. There was ice everywhere. It covered the streets, the doors, the windows. It covered signs and walkways, dripping dangerously down staircases and hung from every surface it could in the form of icicles. There was the sound of ice breaking as the rest of the shop-keepers on Fleet Street managed to open their doors. Each was met with the same site, and each had a look of shock pasted on his or her face.  
⌠Oh!■ The word, coming from Mrs. Lovett, bounced off the frozen water and echoed down the quiet street. She had craned her neck far enough out of the doorway to see the little outside seating area she had at the side of her shop. It was ruined. Chairs and tables were lying every which way, some with three legs, some with two, some lucky to even have one. Some of them you couldn▓t distinguish what you were, they were so covered in ice.  
Toby took a step outside to see the damage, clinging to the side of the building in order to keep his balance. ⌠Oh, mum, ▒m so sorry!■ he mumbled, eyes wide. He thought he heard a sniffle, but when he turned his head to look at her, she looked composed enough.  
⌠Its alrigh▓, love. Nothin▓ tha▓ can▓ be fixed,■ she told him, a small smile spreading across her face. It was a good thing that her business was doing so well, or she would have never been able to afford to repair such damage. ⌠Been meanin▓ to buy some new chairs an▓ tables anyway.■ The boy returned her smile, and that▓s when it happened. It happened so quickly, in fact, that the baker almost missed it. A shout was their only warning, and then suddenly, Sweeney Todd was lying on his back at the foot of the stairs that led to his shop. The only sound after that was one of roaring laughter. The little baker was doubled over, arms wrapped around her stomach as she laughed, laughed harder then she had laughed in a long time.  
The grocer across the street widened his blue eyes. Mrs. Lovett was the only one who would laugh at the barber; he was a very intimidating man. Most attempted to not even look at him. Thinking that he had seen enough, the grocer hurried back into his shop, pretending that he hadn▓t seen anything.  
Sweeney managed to lift his arm to cover his eyes with his hand as he let out a groan. The baker attempted to control her giggling, while the boy stood there, his mouth open as wide as it could go. ⌠Toby, hee hee hee, Toby, love, be a dear an▓ go star▓ a fire in tha oven.■ Her words were almost covered by her laughter. The boy nodded, doing what he was told. ⌠Mrs. Lovett,■ the man finally managed to speak, his voice was as cold as the ice he had slipped on. ⌠If you value you▓re life, you▓ll stop giggling and help me up.■ This seemed to bring her back into reality, but she still beamed at him. ⌠Why, yes, Mistah T, I guess I shoul▓ be helping ya back ta ya feet.■ She stopped after one careful step. ⌠Though do ya mind tellin▓ me what ▒appened?■ Sweeney sighed, letting his hand rest on his chest. ⌠I┘ tripped.■ ⌠Tripped where, love?■ She would have never dreamed of pestering him unless she obviously had the upper hand.  
⌠Tripped... coming down the stairs, Mrs. Lovett,■ he muttered. ⌠Now will you please help me up?■ Her smile never faded. ⌠Course I will, dear. ▒ere.■ She offered him her hand and braced herself as he managed to pull himself to his feet. For a moment the both wobbled, grabbing on to each other to keep their balance. This closeness sent her into giggling once more, and his sneered own at her before storming into the shop. She followed him, steps bouncy as they hit solid ground. ⌠So, guess I▓ll ▒ave to close tha shop today,■ she said to no one in particular. The barber had forced himself into the corner booth, not looking at her in order to keep his gloomy mood. But it was impossible for even him to mope with the baker around, and soon he was watching her flit around the kitchen, throwing supplies into a bowl. Toby joined her in a few moments, and she soon had him set about the task of mixing the batter for whatever she was fixing. She had already moved on to the task of filling the room with candles. True, the room was mostly windows, but as it was said before, these windows were covered with ice, and the light that came through them was very little. Firelight was soon playing off every wall, making the shadows stand dark and tall wherever they found a place to.  
⌠What▓re you doing?■ Sweeney finally asked her when she was lighting the fire on her stovetop. She didn▓t answer until she was getting a large cast iron skillet out of a bottom cabinet, along with a spatula from the nearest drawer.  
⌠Makin▓ breakfas▓ a▓ course!■ she told him, her tone not even the slightest bit breathless. She never stopped moving, but always found the air to talk and talk and talk.  
⌠And what would you be making?■ he tried to sound disinterested, but it was hard. She turned her hazel eyes to him for the briefest moment before turning to take the bowl of batter from Toby, who hurried to get out of her way as she buzzed around the kitchen.  
⌠Pancakes!■ The baker was obviously quite pleased by the fact. She enjoyed all kinds of cooking, she was, after all, a baker, not just a pie-maker, and it disappointed her that she didn▓t get to try out new recipes more often.  
⌠Pancakes?!■ The boy and the man both repeated her at the same time.  
⌠Yes,■ she replied, doling out a portion of batter into the skillet. ⌠Toby gets tha firs▓ one.■ Sweeney sunk a bit lower into his seat, his gloomy mood returning. Toby scurried off into a corner, as far away from the barber as he could get, afraid for his life. But the man knew better, even if he had thought of killing the annoying little boy time and time before.  
In less then twenty minutes they were all digging into platefuls of the fluffy pastry. ⌠See?■ Mrs. Lovett chirped in between bites. ⌠This is exactly ▒ow it shoul▓ be!■ Her perfect picture; the man she loved, her darling little boy, and her, all sitting together enjoying breakfast. Well, maybe Sweeney wasn▓t enjoying it, but he never enjoyed anything.  
⌠Bu▓ what are we gonna do for the res▓ of tha day, mum?■ Toby asked her, managing to swallow beforehand. This stopped the baker in her tracks. What were they going to do? Normally she made pies all day and Toby cleaned her shop. Her barber shaved the faces, well, maybe it was better said that he cut the necks, of men all day. With the weather this way, no one would come around for pies, and they definitely wouldn▓t want a shave. She thought about it hard, compiling a list of things that needed to be done.  
Laundry. There was always laundry to do. But by her experiences, it took only the slightest chill to freeze any sort of water around here, so that was looking very unlikely. She needed to run down to the cobbler▓s and drop off a pair of shoes, but that also wasn▓t going to happen. She needed to go down to the bake house and deal with a few corpses, but even bubbly Mrs. Lovett wasn▓t willing to attempt that steep flight of steps. She could clean house. That was the only thing that she could think of doing. Or she could read. But what about Toby and the barber?  
⌠Um,■ she took another moment, searching her mind for any possibility. Toby stared at her anxiously, his fork hovering in the air half way to his mouth. Sweeney, of course, was concentrating on his food; she doubted he had heard a single word that either of them had said since the pancakes were first mentioned. Finally, she found her solution. ⌠We can play cards!■ She stood quickly, almost knocking her chair over in her rush. ⌠Toby, ge▓ tha dishes for me, love.■ The boy nodded, cautiously pulling the empty plate and fork away from the man, who was staring out the window, before getting hers and his own. He quickly dropped them in his seat before returning to his seat, eagerly awaiting the bakers return.

⌠Mr. Todd?■ Toby asked carefully. ⌠Do you have any sevens?■ The man let out a grunt before swiping two cards from his hand and sliding them across the table to the now beaming boy. After receiving the cards, he turned to Mrs. Lovett, hope written all over his face. ⌠Do you ▒ave any sevens, mum?■ She returned his grin, holding back a giggle. ⌠Sorry, love. Go fish!■ 


End file.
